


Witness Prognosis

by CaffieneKitty



Series: Entered into Evidence [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: ACD Canon References, Coma, Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt John Watson, John Is In A Coma, M/M, POV John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:04:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4381994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffieneKitty/pseuds/CaffieneKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is hoped that by the time the case comes to trial, Doctor Watson will have fully recovered from his coma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Witness Prognosis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for watsons_woes July Writing Prompt #19: [While You Were Sleeping.](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1375670.html) A serendipitous prompt after the last one. Following on in the [Entered Into Evidence](http://archiveofourown.org/series/287010) series which has spontaneously sprung up for me this year, with a bit of closure finally.

Beeping. The huff of a ventilator. John wondered who it was attached to.

"John. Please."

Familiar voice; comforting, yet utterly destroyed.

A breath. Another. "We've captured them, and their buyers. Belgian authorities met the ship as it docked. Your notes were invaluable, John."

A frisson of pleased surprise.

"I should have- the chance that they might still be there hadn't even occurred-" A shuddering inhale. "Why did you not leave when you saw they were still there?" the voice demanded.

 _Couldn't leave. They'd get away._ John wished he had a face to frown with, but he seemed to have misplaced it. _Who's 'they' again?_

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't-" A harsh breath.

John felt something; pressure. Somewhere. Feeling meant he had something to feel with, didn't it? Just a matter of finding it.

"I would have done the same, had I been there. I should have been there."

_'Salright, voice. You weren't to have known._

"I thought it wasn't worth my time, practically a cold case. Stupid. _Stupid_."

The pressure disappeared. _No, come back, I was trying to find you._

A deep breath, then the voice spoke fast, moving, rising and subsiding. Pacing. "The plates on the Yugo were indeed Belgian, well-spotted, but the driver was originally Moroccan. A contact. The elderly woman however, she was an arms dealer who has been in operation since the mid-eighties, going under the name of R. J. Raposo. Actual name Regina Danforth. She was the real ringleader and had evaded capture for decades. They've got her now. The chemists were indeed both under duress; extortion, threats, their families have been moved to safety and they are all turning witness."

_Good, that's good._

"The shipment itself was comprised of refined narcotics, automatic weapons and bomb components. The buyers were- They..." The voice huffed, a broken laugh. "It's not the same, talking to you about the case when you aren't conscious."

 _I'd be worried if it was._ A tickle of gratified contentment.

The voice paused, then continued, softer, not moving anymore. "I don't know why I keep telling you all this every day, John, but they say to keep talking to you, and I know you'd want to know it. It's not as if I know the football scores or whatever, and Lestrade has that topic rather excessively covered." A quiet snort. "I came in yesterday and he was reading you the Celebrity section of the Guardian. He said he'd gone through the Sport section hours earlier and thought you might like to know what was going on with something called 'Top Gear'. I informed him that the point of speaking to you was to keep your brain active, not rot it."

John felt a giggle looking for an outlet, but not finding one. _Poor Lestrade._

"I'd like to think you would have laughed at that. He laughed."

_I will laugh. Just need to find where I left the bits that I laugh with._

Soft sound, a shift of fabric. "I don't know why I'm telling you this; you were here at the time."

 _I don't know that I was. I don't remember._ He remembers pain. Then black. He's not sure where he's left his body, but he's sure it's safe. The voice is there with it, wherever it is.

Noise. Chair being repositioned. The feeling of pressure came back, and warmth. _There you are. Don't go away again, I need to find you._

"Please John. Please. Come out of this." A long shaky inhale, followed by a longer exhale. "You're in a coma. Level six on the Glasgow scale. Up from a four two days ago, but- Motor response to painful stimuli. Otherwise, nothing. No eye movement, no sound."

 _Ooo, that's not good at all. Have to do something about that._ The voice's tone had changed, the recitation sounded practiced now; a painful and oft-repeated speech.

"You've been in a coma for five days, John. The head injury is minor, not the cause of the coma, mild concussion only. The perpetrators didn't drug you, so that's not a factor either. It's just blood loss. Hypoxia. Lack of oxygen to the brain." The voice's detached tone wobbled.

John wished he had a head to nod. _Hard to get oxygen to the brain when there's no blood to get it there._

Another breath. Back to the recitation. "Stage four hypovolemic shock. You were on lactated ringer's solution and whole blood transfusions until two days ago. You are off the blood now and erythropoiesis has resumed. Your red blood cell production is now at normal levels. No sign of liver or kidney damage. Your heart- Your-" The voice stumbled to a halt, picked up again. "Your heart stopped on the scene, and again in the ambulance en route to hospital. Surgery was minor given the minimally invasive method of exsanguination, but even so they still nearly lost-" The voice halted.

Pressure increased and faded; a squeeze. A hand squeezing. The voice had a hand, maybe John had one too? He set to looking for it.

"The ambulance arrived just as we found you. We carried you down to them from where the perpetrators had- had," the voice snarled suddenly, "hung you upside down from the rafters like a butchered animal."

Blood dripping. John remembered. Fading out to the sound of the drip. _I'll be fine though. It's fine. I just need to find my hand._ Should be easy now, the pressure on it was quite intense.

"If you don't come out of this, John, I- If your brain is damaged, I swear, I _will_ kill them. Every last one. Incarcerated, awaiting trial, no matter. All of them, dead. Hang them all by their feet and let them bleed dry."

A flush of warmth at the depth of emotion in the words. Then a flush of alarm and concern. _That's... really probably not at all good, that. But thanks. Can't let it happen though._ Following the pressure, John found something. Inflate, deflate, in time with the ventilator. _Lungs! Good. Hello, body. Now where's my hand?_ The steady beeping increased tempo slightly.

"John?" The voice was startled, hopeful.

 _There it is._ His hand was wrapped in warm pressure; strong long-fingered pressure, both sides. A thumb rubbed the back next to the IV site. Sherlock's thumb. Sherlock's hand. Sherlock's voice.

_Sherlock. Found you._

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. After that, everything suddenly got much, much louder.

-.-.-  
(that's it. See? I said John'd be alright eventually.)


End file.
